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Charlotte Whitton

Action makes more fortune than caution.

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Far More Pretty Than The Flowers Hanging On The Branches

Far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky,
much closer than the birds in their flight
you come into my life by your own will,

you bring comfort to the daily longing
and constantly return from work.
Far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky,

the depth of our love sometimes scares me;
for getting hurt these feelings are sometimes renowned
but our love makes my humanity lustrous
and constantly you are
far more pretty than the flowers hanging on the branches,
more glamorous than the sun in the blue sky.

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Who Should Receive More 'Patience' Than They Get?

Solicited advice given that later offends,
Grown men and women
Makes it a bit easier to express compassion,
For their children who lack discipline.
But are into fads and questionable fashions.

When it becomes understood,
From whom they have received their lessons taught...
With a displaying to quickly disrespect.
Children raised by those limited...
Are not regarded as investments to protect.

Who clearly is the victim?
Should not be a question anyone should guess.
It is obvious who's mind has been compromised.
And who should receive more patience than they get.

'Well...
Who should receive more 'patience' than they get? '

Teachers.
Police.
And those who preach about responsibilities.
And of course...
Those who are appointed to be psychiatrists,
By the judges making decisions,
After hearing these mental cases heard...
With no ending to them in courts.

~We will take a thirty minute recess.
That should be enough time to allow me,
To spend a few moments with my own psychoanalyst.~

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More Today Than Yesterday

I dont remember what day it was
I didnt notice what time it was
All I know is that I fell in love with you
And if all my dreams come true
Ill be spending time with you
Every days a new day in love with you
With each day comes a new way of loving you
Every time I kiss your lips my mind starts to wonder
And if all my dreams come true
Ill be spending time with you
Oh I love you more today than yesterday
But not as much as tomorrow
Oh I love you more today than yesterday
But darling not as much as tomorrow
Tommorrow makes each springtime just a day away
Cupid we dont need you now be on your way
I thank the lord for love like ours that grows ever stronger
And I always will be true
Ill be spending time with you
Oh I love you more today than yesterday
But not as much as tomorrow
Oh I love you more today than yesterday
But darling not as much as tomorrow
Every days a new day, every time I love ya
Every times a new way, every time I love ya...
Very days a new day, every time I love ya
Every times a new way, every time I love ya...
Every time I love ya...

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Cello More Important Than Life

Your righteous indignation at my making two mistakes
that merely disturbed your complacency authorises you
to swear at me and sets you free from any need to apologise,
in this house I must reiterate how sorry I am and write letters
explaining why I messed up and became guilty of high treason
and should be shot for multiple shortcomings, the situation is
so bizarre it makes me laugh - Mein Herr Marquis, ein Mann
wie Sie … drum verzeihen Sie wenn ich lache - ha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha [Die Fledermaus]

Your injured dignity forces you to ignore me pointedly - fine,
after laughing to my heart's content, the screensaver that gives
meaning to everyday routine, Timothy Dalton as 007 - The
Living Daylights - keeps my mind occupied; while you steam
and froth at the mouth, presenting like Le Malade Imaginaire
of Molière, waiting to execute me with the guillotine of your
mouth - I happily watch 007 rise to the occasion as he con-
fronts the KJB - while you prepare the devastating speech
that is meant to change me into Quasimodo himself

I am walking the grey steets of Russia in 1987, a cello is clearly
more important than a life, once again the situation is clear -
yes, your discomfiture is more important than my work or life,
James Bond puts it all in perspective, having just used a laser
light on an official car, yes, this is life, as long as the
imagination can take us away, reality is just the trampoline
providing lift-off into the sky, sorry Mein Herr Marquis, a
tragedy in the land of ice has taken me away, the cello has
taken a bullet and they just went through the border post
- safe in Austria -

While the KJB is getting ready to launch new attacks on everyone

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It Makes More Sense

It makes more sense,
Stopping something not to start.
Yes it makes more sense,
Not to tear things all apart.
Or bring up filthy garbage,
Knowing it is just a farce.

It makes more sense,
To walk away than to be petty.
And it makes more sense,
To prevent a thumping headache.
And it makes more sense,
Not to argue with a fool.
Knowing this is something done,
Many fools love to do.

And it makes more sense,
Stopping something not to start.
Yes it makes more sense,
Not to tear things all apart.
Or bring up filthy garbage,
Knowing it is just a farce.
And it makes more sense,
Not to argue with a fool.
Knowing this is something done,
Fools love to do.

And it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To chase all bitterness away.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.

And it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To chase all bitterness away.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.

Yes it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.
Yes it makes more sense,
To keep the peace with every neighbor.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'You're right' than build a hate.
Knowing that tomorrow promises another day.

It makes more sense,
To leave a fight and not to start it.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'I'm wrong'. And then depart.
What is there to gain to carry hatred in your heart.

It makes more sense,
To leave a fight and not to start it.
And it makes more sense,
To say, 'I'm wrong'. And then depart.
What is there to gain to carry hatred in your heart?

It makes more sense,
Stopping something not to start.
Yes it makes more sense,
Not to tear things all apart.
Or bring up filthy garbage,
Knowing it is just a farce.
Yes it makes more sense.
There should be no doubt about it.
Yes it makes more sense.
There should be no doubt about it.
Yes this makes more sense.
There should be no doubt about it,
That it makes more sense!
Without being convinced,
To leave.

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They're More Equal Than Others

Democracies, Dictatorships and Communism,
Are contradictions they'd have us all think,
Yet as all of them head for cataclysm,
It's the poor who are left to sink.

As our leaders tear our economies apart,
It's time to stand up and be counted,
These idiots are determined to tear out our heart,
Mass protests against you will be mounted.

We're in this together they'd have you believe,
But it's we who must follow their rules,
While they live in splendour we're left to grieve,
Working people are treated like fools.

We are taxed us from birth till the day we die,
To ensure we stay under the thumb,
While they're on the take we're left to cry,
They look upon commoners as scum.

Those who preside at the top of the tree,
Politicians and fat cat millionaires,
The plight of the poor they refuse to see,
If truth be told not one of them cares.

These hierarchies dictate how we all should live,
We must struggle just to stay alive,
While their lives are based on take not give,
They leave us barely enough to survive.

We're being squeezed to death by these parasites,
Who want nothing but fortune and fame,
It is us they condemn they're abusing our rights,
While their excuses are always the same.

They bring all of our countries to their knees,
Through sheer incompetence and greed,
Then walk away rich denying the sleaze,
Their lavish lifestyles they go on to feed.

While they live their lives in prosperity,
The workers end up unemployed,
We must suffer a life of austerity,
While their lives are being enjoyed.

The fat cats claim it is never their fault,
Whenever the stock markets crash,
To fix it they enter the taxpayers vault,
Then they walk away with our stash.

We're then left to pick up the pieces,
As taxes and prices all rise,
It's the workers the speculator fleeces,
By so called experts, another myth dies.

They lie so much they forget the truth,
Then get caught in their venomous webs,
Their indignant attitude is then so uncouth,
When they call us nothing but '' plebs ''

The truth is none of them would be rich,
Without us they'd be walking the streets,
For a life of austerity they don't have the itch,
They're the epitomy of low life cheats.

Fact is for us they do not give a damn,
The truth a liar always smothers,
We are being conned by their illegitimate scam,
They believe,

‘' They're More Equal Than Others ‘'

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Patrick White

Living On A Planet That Kills More People Than It Heals

Living on a planet that kills more people than it heals.
And the most dangerous of predators, our own ideals
turning on us like ingrown hairs, solar flares the wind
blew in our faces without any of the veils or auroral graces
that used to adorn our amazement at what our eyes
in creative collaboration with victimized ions, could do
with the last breath of an expiring sun god to make it
mystically beautiful and awe-inspiring. Just
to be a witness to it was enough to keep your mouth
shut for the next ten thousand years, the silence
before the sublimity of being in the presence
as convincing to the farmer as it was to the astronomer.

As civilization progresses into an improved savagery
and people grow more bovine in their living rooms
as the one-eyed liar at the nadir of the third eye
entrances them into believing they're still
grazing in the starfields of genetically modified astroturf
they were raised on, slowly, from a moon cow's point of view
it's beginning to dawn on people that civilization
is nothing but the history of war since Sargon of Agade
first turned the plunder of cattle and women
into the military imperialism of the few against the many
by staying like a parasitic cosmic egg laid
on the pineal gland of a host caterpillar so civilization,
mimetic word, a cattle prod, an axe, and an abattoir,
is coming to be seen for the death trap that it is.
Muddy Waters, there's anotha mule kickin in yo stall.

I grew up in an impoverished neighbourhood
where the garbage cans were full of people
but I swear, and I've seen a lot I wish I hadn't,
I've never seen so much rot, corruption, and ignorance,
lacking even elementary street smarts, as I do
in the portulent politicians and their fanatically kempt hags
that make you feel so sorry for their hairdressers,
and the tailors that have to fit them like a hidden agenda
of hate and greed, oozing through the seams
of their shapeshifting, deformed-fitting suits.

Makes you want to stick the old peace sign of the sixties
down your throat and throw up. Or pack up
a small tent, like a refugee or an emigrant
and get in line with the rest of the waterlilies
who've finally given up on trying to turn
the festering swamp into something redeemably beautiful
and would rather be homelessly lost among the stars,
floating down the Milky Way with wild black swans,
than sit like the eggcup of a crown on the skull
of a false prophecy missing more than one link in its evolution.
And if you think not to be appalled by the stink of the world
is a kind of experienced wisdom, a seasoned outlook,
then I might suggest that you've aged like offal
complicit in the contagion of worms in the grass
where the children play on the swings. And your last best hope
is that your eyes have retained some of the original innocence
of the fool that you used to be,
before the Medusa turned them to stone
and the colour flaked off like the irises of violated covenants.

Radical in the sixties, I was into self-creative destruction,
tallowing sand candles out of napalm and beeswax
that went off like fifty calibre lipstick shells in your face.
I occupied. I dropped out. I blew my own mind
more than once just to make sure the bridge was burning
by the time I got to the other side of my own mindstream
and no one was following me like another blistering ideal
that got thrown like acid in the maculate face of the full moon.
It was easier to believe in everything back then
than to make peace with myself even now,
though I know it's just one illusion dead set against another
and I'm sitting naked in the Himalayas alone at night
trying to hatch a new cosmic egg for myself
or at least a new cosmology for this glass third eye
I've ground like a lens or the mirror of a reflecting telescope
with gritty carborundum down to within an angstrom of perfection
just to be on the same wavelength as quicksilver and diamonds
when it comes to seeing things that don't easily disappear.
Now I can see the stars dancing clearly from the inside out.

I'm looking for an abandoned observatory on the top
of the world mountain standing on the shaky cornerstone
of a snapping turtle, and I'm not being driven out this time,
exiled among exiles, like some scapegoat beaten
like an objective correlative for what is most ugly in humans
that don't sacrifice themselves for their own sins.
I've been leaving of my own accord for the last thirty light years
of this wilderness experience for the wind knows where.
And I still care. And I still help the waywards of life
that blow across my path like losing lottery tickets
and one winged butterflies trying to fly
like the unbound page of a book with half a wingspan.
I still fight with words and actions that have been blooded
like Damascene swords in the sacred forges of my infernality.
I've gone on exploring the elusive dark energy
of my expansiveness long after the universe went out
and sight stopped being a kind of love as lucid
as the imagination on a good seeing night for the sky bound.

But as my compassion has grown deeper, more holistic
and mystically specific simultaneously so has the sadness
of feeling so many suffer the indistinguishable pain
of simply being alive to endure the agony
of cauterizing their cosmic wounds with the very stars
they wished upon a heart break ago when the waterclock
broke like an ice-age dam and the baby mammoth
was washed away like starmud in a glacial flood
of Pleistocene tears. And life seems so randomly perilous
in the way it maims and kills the body and the mind,
it seems even the wise and the sublime die as surrealistically
as the sarcastic mentors of trash and trivia
trying to distract our attention away from our dilemma
with cheap thrills and punchlines about the meaning of nothing
so we can't feel the house burning down around us
until we're reminiscing in our urns,
as if we were still haunted by eyes in the dark
like some lingering significance to our demise.

Lachrymae rerum. Sometimes I think the mute rocks
don't just speak, they weep like stars
for the things they've seen like the headstones
of prophetic skulls in a cemetery of ancestral asteroids.
An abandoned observatory, yes, the jewel in the lotus,
and a large garden where I can grow my own constellations
like esoteric zodiacs of asters and sunflowers
and a lover I can bed down with like an equinox
when our celestial equators intersect our ecliptics
at the equinoctial colures of our cosmic G-spots
and we can implode like supernovas in each other's presence
just for the pure joy of immolating ourselves in bliss
to renew the tenderness of the fireflies who know
there are no limits to how far we can take this.

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More Common Than PMS?

POOP
is more common
than PMS

What's POOP?

just made poop up!
pissed off over people
seems very common?

snap out of it!


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The Physique is more powerful than the mind

the physique is more
powerful than the mind

it can help you track
down the impossible

if you can scale down
your mental attention
to its level

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So much more happy than before (Common Measure Octave)

So much more happy than before
with love you have made me,
as destiny had brought me loss
and you tranquillity,
forever you I do adore
and in your eyes I see
a lovely golden kind of gloss;
as true love has to be.

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More Numbed Than Stunned

What's done becomes more offensive,
When the intention does not receive...
The expected attention.

And those who should have been offended,
Have become more numbed than stunned...
By the show of ignorance some will never overcome.

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There Are More Stars Than Poems

There are more stars than poems-
More vast silent worlds
Than small verbal ones-
Masses and masses of mass and fire
Masses and masses of darkness and death-
And against this millions and billions of words and more little words -

More stars than poems
And far too many of both
For human comprehension

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More Deeply Than Intercourse

Strange,
The weird, illogical way
Of friendship.

Sometimes,
There is jealousy and rage
In the pursuit of a woman,
Sinister calculations of murder.

Sometimes,
An unshakable brotherhood ensues
After sexual relations
With the same woman.

Maybe,
It is merely the dark, feminine magic
Penetrating the soul
More deeply than intercourse.

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Light Is More Important Than The Lantern

Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
My letters to you
Are greater and more important than both of us.
The are the only documents
Where people will discover
Your beauty
And my madness.


Translated by B. Frangieh And C. Brown


Submitted by Noele Aabye

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Internet Immortality- I Am More Immortal Than I Want To Be

INTERNET IMMORTALITY- I AM MORE IMMORTAL THAN I WANT TO BE

I am more immortal than I want to be-
Old error-filled works of mine
Will never be erased-
Every line I would have rewritten
Remains somewhere else
In many different ways-
Erase me please
Quickly-
Let me die less known
And not with a name
So needing
To be blotted and corrected.

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More Pretty Than A Flower

More pretty than a flower you are to me,
when in the morning you pass in the road,
when you hair shines, when I get a smile.
More pretty than a flower,

you turn me around your little finger,
I cannot avoid my feelings for you,
when your humanity and grace astounds me,

when I suddenly start to fall in love,
like a school boy I feel somewhat stupid
when I look at you, when I admire you and you are
more pretty than a flower.

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Thou art more kind than mother dear

Thou art more kind than mother dear,
More soothing than the rays of moon
Thy love an ever flowing tide,
Sinks deeper than a common stream
I know of none that equals Thee -
Thou best of all immortal Gods
I wave my name above Thy head,
And part it at thy holy feet.
Ah! Sweeter than sweetest things,
And mightier than all the elements,
Thou rulest O'er the Universe,
And seest that it goes all right,
In silence do I lay my head
upon thy feet , and pray 'Forgive'

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More Precious Than Gold

No being on earth
Can hold us apart,
As long as we've
Conviction and courage of heart.
Darling, we have something
More precious than gold.
Each other and tomorrow
To have and to hold.
Don't ever be timorous.
Take sword within hand.
Put on your shining armour,
And conquer the land.
Walk onward to paradise,
Where no mortal may tread.
Come hold my hand tightly,
Slay the dragons of dread.
Yes darling, we've something
More precious than gold.
Each other and tomorrow,
To have and to hold.

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I Couldn’t Be More Happy Than If I Was Dead!

You kiss my hair
& my hair is happy.

You kiss my skin
& my skin is happy.

You kiss
even the littlest bit

of me
& I

am
happy.

You kiss
my fingertips

and my little toe
is at once
envious

says: “Quick...quick
kiss me too! ! ! ”

You kiss my little toe
and my fingertips are instantly jealous.

“Quickly! Quickly! ”
they say
“Kiss us again! ”

You kiss
my lips

and my heart
is happiness.

My soul
swoons.

I couldn’t be
more happy

than if i was dead

and in Heaven
itself!

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Envy Of Other Poets Greater And More Honored Than Me

ENVY OF OTHER POETS GREATER AND MORE HONORED THAN ME

Envy of other poets greater and more honored than me
Only shows how petty and foolish and unwisely ambitious I am-

Each is what he or she is,
And each is only one-
And no one is anyone else-
And better are many, and worse are many-

A poet should write his own lines
And mind his own business-
And take pleasure in the poetry of others
When it gives that.

A poet need not compare and measure himself
But rather simply be what he is.

Write the poems
Leave the honors and the praises to someone else.

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